Down in Singing Dove
by Deejaye
Summary: A weird conspiracy, a dead mutant, and a video will change the face of the world forever.


CLARABELLE MCMILLAN 3345 BANE LANE SINGING DOVE, CALIFORNIA

It was a rather small package, the address typed out in 20 font Times New Roman. Claire hadn't gone by her birth name in almost 15 years. She legally changed it after her father's death in 1999. Oscar McMillan was a name that made most polite company cringe. Being his daughter had almost been too big of a shame to bare and the judge awarded that it might be for her best interest to change her name and quickly.

She did not have to do the usual song and dance. For her part in the capture and subsequent execution of Oscar McMillan, Clarabelle McMillan was allowed to effortlessly disappear. Like mist across the lake, Claire Daniels emerged almost out of nowhere.

She entered the most prestigious journalism school, but had never graduated. Her mother was in a car accident and Claire was forced to take some leave. When she returned, the school said she had been dropped due to bad grades.

She was accepted into art school, where she put aside her journalistic aspirations to make comics for newspapers and online magazines. She was rather good, but it didn't make her happy. She still wrote a rather popular blog under the name Emma Stranger. She had a rather close following of conspiracy theorists.

Her most popular blog to date talked about her father and what she believed to be some inconclusive evidence. It didn't keep her up at night and no one put together _Emma Stranger_ and the lost, likely dead _Clarabelle McMillan._ If anything, Clarabelle was all but forgotten.

It had been speculated by some off the wall, drinking the KoolAid types that Clarabelle had continued her father's work, going underground to murder and kill innocent hitchhikers. Which made for a very charming line of thought, making Claire almost sick. Oscar had done so much to fuck up the world, and Claire didn't intend to follow in his foot steps.

The package looked normal. Inside was a flash drive and a letter. _This is a job I need you to do. I would love to see your mock up. Get back to me when you have made your choice._

Claire felt weird, like this was something she should not be holding. Some people sent her really crappy drawings of characters they wanted her to draw for them. She dabbled in anime often, but only if the high school and college kids had the cash. Most people would call Claire optimistic, but at 31, she was done being taken advantage of. Sure, the government paid for the basics, but Claire liked to travel, see the world, liked her toys and her exotic pets.

Claire knew the government had their eyes in her apartment, she took out her smaller computer. She bought one every few years. This one had been purchased just last week and was only used for mockups, stories, and to write. She never connected to the internet and she was sure the government had looked into trying to take touch the Mini, but Claire tried to be very careful.

She didn't like to think her whole life was watched. She was the daughter of a very dangerous man. Of course she was watched.

Sticking the drive into the side of the computer. She had to flip it one or twice, messing up the entry like an idiot. There was one file listed on it, _ ._

She pushed it and her video player started up. She didn't think much of the video at first. It was likely another job for the newspaper. Osama had been killed some time ago, but he was still a popular figure in comics. She had done three comics on him in the last three months.

He was wearing his usual earthy robes, his beard snarled. This time, however, he was looking straight at the camera with an almost plaintive look in his eyes.

He held up a newspaper. The camera zoomed in on APRIL 10TH, 2014. It could be fake, but the headline was from Singing Dove. MAN DRIVES TO HIS DEATH. It had just been published yesterday and was such a weird article to pick. Claire had written it.

Her body went stiff and she felt a chill slip down her spine.

This was huge. This was bigger than her small town newspaper.

Osama began to speak. There was no accent, no hateful "infidel" speech. He said simply, "Your government has lied to you. I am speaking to you because you are the daughter of a good friend of mine. You have been monitored your whole life with the hopes you will never speak out about what you saw. You no longer bare his name, but you have his vision."

Claire shook her head. This was not happening. Something pressed against the back of her mine. Osama kept speaking, she had to listen to the video a few times to understand what he was saying.

"You possess a gift that the government does not want getting out. Your father did not murder those girls. Oscar was part of an underground movement called the _Essex Special Program_ or ESP. They were not creative men, but they were greedy. They saw what a gift could do for the future. Oscar could not control himself, he did not think he would ever be able to. You see, Clarabelle, you father saw the-"

There was a knock on the door. Claire paused the video, closing the small computer and putting it inside her purse. _Leave_ a voice in her head said. _Get the fuck out of here. This person is not to be trusted. Don't trust them._

Claire grabbed her work bag, shoving her wallet and a few other essentials. On a whim she grabbed her passport. "Yes?" Claire called. "Let me put some pants on."

"It's Jerry from next door," the voice said again. "You were being rather loud. Is everything okay?"

_Out the fire escape._ The voice ordered her.

She shoved her way out the window, tearing the screen and darting down the metal stairs far louder than she wanted. She never made it to the bottom before the bullet went through her skull.

A man on the roof made a signal and the clean up crew approached the dead woman. She was rather pretty, one of them remarked.

The other grinned. _We could not take the risk she would turn out like her father._


End file.
